


come inside, well, it’s ok and I’ll shake you

by princess_of_the_darkness



Series: don't let me go, just say it's so [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 70s music, Alternate Universe - College/University, Ben Solo is a secret hipster, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Gentleness, Making Out, One Shot, Rey is living my academic dreams, Surprise Kissing, as in first conversation, kind of, not very explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_of_the_darkness/pseuds/princess_of_the_darkness
Summary: For truly inconceivable reasons, Rey’s spare key had somehow ended up at Ben Solo’s place. It had made sense at the time, really. Probably. It must have made sense.Someonemust have thought it would make sense.OrLeia is Rey's Ph.D. advisor. Rey is locked out of her apartment. Ben Solo is a douchebag. Or is he?
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: don't let me go, just say it's so [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783765
Comments: 41
Kudos: 153





	come inside, well, it’s ok and I’ll shake you

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Big Star's [Thirteen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pte3Jg-2Ax4), which I strongly advise you listen to, just because it's such a heart-wrenching song.
> 
> There are a couple more of their songs linked throughout the story because they make sense for the mood, but they're also just good songs (if you're into 70s rock/power pop), so feel free to listen to them as well !!
> 
> [also if anyone has any recommendations for similar artists from the 70s or 80s (especially black/queer/female ones) pls hit me up !!]  
> 

For truly inconceivable reasons, Rey’s spare key had somehow ended up at Ben Solo’s place. It had made sense at the time, really. Probably. It must have made sense. _Someone_ must have thought it would make sense. 

The thing is, Rey never thought she really had the need for a spare key before. She doesn’t forget her keys. That just doesn’t happen. 

In some of her foster families, not having the keys had been akin to a death sentence. She’d seen her fair share of foster siblings just left outside to learn their lesson. So, if, say twenty minutes ago, someone had asked her where the key to her apartment was located right now, she would have said her left coat pocket without even thinking about it. Of course, left pocket. That’s where she always puts it, that’s where it belongs. And when she’s not wearing _this_ coat, it’s in the left pocket of whatever jacket she’s wearing that day. If it’s too warm for a jacket, it’s in her bag. 

And today- well today it’s not there. 

Now, there are two possibilities as to where her key might be. Number one is the optimistic one, _maybe it’s just lying in the key bowl where I put it after coming home last night_. It’s a mantra she repeats in her head because, well, it’s not that unlikely. She does remember putting it in there. 

It’s a nice little bowl, light blue with white horizontal stripes and dotted with artistically placed speckles of orange paint. Finn had gotten it for her when she moved into this apartment and she’d put it to use immediately, seeing as it has the perfect size for a key bowl. If only it could somehow alert her when she forgets to _take_ the keys. That’s a million dollar idea right there, she thinks. 

This morning had been a really stressful one, so it doesn’t surprise her that she can’t remember if she’d actually grabbed them or not. It had been her own fault, though. Professor Organa had reminded her four times that they’d scheduled a meeting for today and Rey had still set her _I have a class to teach at 10.30_ alarm and not her _I have a class to teach at 10.30 and a meeting with my Ph.D. advisor at 8.30_ alarm. 

So her whole morning had happened in a rush, with no time to eat breakfast, put make-up on or even get dressed in what she liked to think of as her “professional and distinguished lecturer” attire. (She feels more powerful and academically competent in a skirt and a nice blouse, sue her.) She’d been forced to go for jeans and a t-shirt instead, but she doesn’t think any of her students even noticed. 

This semester, Rey teaches two classes; one’s a tutorial for _Intro to English, American and Anglophone Literature Studies_ on Tuesdays and the other one is her own seminar, _Post-Colonial Writing and Re-Writing – A new perspective on the English Canon_ on Thursdays. They’re fun and she really enjoys working as a lecturer now, but the tutorial is mainly aimed at first semesters and they can be- well, _slow_ , she thinks, for the lack of a better word that has fewer ableist connotations. 

Most of the class is so overwhelmed by the coursework alone that they wouldn’t notice if she came to class dressed in a bunny costume. Unless it’s a playboy bunny costume, that would probably fly really well with the fresh-out-of-high school, still hormonally challenged, honest-to-god teenagers she’s teaching. Rey is 90% sure she saw two guys in the front row stare at her ass when she’d turned around to get her water bottle out of her bag. Oh how she loves being objectified at her workplace. 

Now. The second option for where her key might be is decidedly less optimistic. _What if you lost it?? It could have fallen out of your pocket at any time?!??!?? What about when you had to run to catch the bus or when you sprinted across campus to get to class on time??????!??!11???_

Her mind isn’t very helpful here, she decides. It’s just- she’s never lost a key before. What if someone finds it and somehow knows its hers? Or what if someone already found it and followed her home? Jesus, she’ll have to get the locks changed, won’t she? 

Really, all Rey wants to do right now is bang her head against the door to her apartment, that _she can’t fucking open_ because apparently she’s an idiot sometimes. If she’d actually made it a habit to lock her door after going out, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Or maybe she would, even in that parallel universe she could very well have made an exception this morning. 

So there she is now: key-less, hungry, and with 42 mock exams she should ideally have marked by next Tuesday burning a hole in her bag. There are also a million new ideas for the most recent chapter of her dissertation that she’s been itching to write down properly ever since her meeting with Professor Organa. 

Rey’s relationship to Professor Organa is- _weird_. To say the least. 

Back in the day of Rey’s own first semester, she’d taken _Intro to English Literature Studies_ (as it had been called according to the old curriculum and examination regulations) and, while sitting in her first lecture ever, Rey had fallen in love. Metaphorically. Kind of. More of a deep admiration/jealousy/appreciation feeling. But also a tiny little crush of the bisexual awakening kind. 

Professor Organa was the first woman in academia Rey had met in her entire life and she would forever be the most fascinating one. Her lecture had been jointly-taught, aka Rey’s worst nightmare, because the other four lecturers involved had made her life a living hell. They had been moody, bored by anyone not in possession of at least a Bachelor’s degree and one session had even ended in a shouting match with a student who hadn’t read one of the books they were discussing. It hadn’t even been the session to discuss that book yet. Professor Organa, on the other hand, had been a _delight_. Funny, patient but firm, always asking questions so that everyone could participate, gentle and just plain nice. 

Rey isn’t ashamed to admit that she’d drawn little hearts into her weekly planner for the days that Professor Organa would be doing the lecture. She had re-awoken Rey’s love for literature, set her on the path of post-colonial literature theories and Rey feels a little bit like her entire academic career up to this point had been decided when Professor Organa had opened her mouth to talk about Jean Rhys’ _Wide Sargasso Sea_. 

By a strike of unlucky fate, Rey hadn’t be able to take another one of her classes until her second M.A. semester, but when she finally did, it had felt like coming home. Sitting in a seminar with only 20 other students, all of which admired Professor Organa just as much as she did, talking animatedly about the differences between a post-colonial and a transcultural approach to World Literature had made her feel alive like nothing else ever had. It had felt natural and right to go ahead and pursue a Ph.D., especially when Professor Organa had agreed to be her advisor. 

It’s not that they get along perfectly all the time, Rey isn’t quite the wide-eyed and naïve girl she’d been in her first semester and she’s secure in her own ideas _and_ headstrong enough to disagree (sometimes heatedly) when she thinks it’s necessary. She’s glad that they see eye to eye on a good portion of what she wants to discuss in her dissertation, but she’s not afraid of the confrontation that’s always bound to happen when it comes to the other parts. 

But then, Professor Organa had also helped to get her the apartment. And that’s where the trouble starts. 

Their relationship isn’t inappropriate, per se. Not really. They don’t even call each other by their first names, so in a way it’s strictly professional, but then again, it also isn’t. Professor Organa and Rey are kind of… friends? 

They don’t _hang out_ outside of their dissertation discussion meetings, but those happen all the time. Most of them still take place in Professor Organa’s office or occasionally in the university library, but sometimes they meet for a coffee or over dinner and it’s been happening more and more that afterwards, they decide to go see a movie or the newest museum exhibition they’re both into. 

And the things is, it’s really fucking nice. But also super weird. They only really talk about Rey’s dissertation or the classes she’s teaching or literature in general, but somehow, one rainy afternoon five months ago, in a lovely little café they had both been to for the first time, even though they’d never talked about personal things before, Rey had brought up the apartment thing.

The apartment thing had gone as follows: Rey had been living in a two-bedroom apartment with Finn. They’d met when they were both in their second semester and had instantly ended up as best friends. Now, when Rey’s roommate had decided to move away three months later, there hadn’t been much discussion before Finn had moved in with her. A comfortable and nice arrangement for the both of them, financially sensible and really good for their friendship. Until Finn had met Poe, fallen in love, and things had become much more complicated. 

Rey loved Poe, really, but being forced to leave her home at least three nights a week or else be subjected to loud and passionate love-making noises coming from Finn’s room wasn’t all that nice. To put it mildly. The final straw had been when she’d _walked in on them_ one time, bent over the kitchen counter, in the middle of the goddamn day. A week later she’d met with Professor Organa and the story had spilled out of her mouth, just like that. 

The worst thing had probably been that she’d felt like a bother to her friends, like Finn and Poe had desperately wanted to live together but couldn’t. Because of her. 

Rey is pretty sure she cried on Professor Organa’s expensive blazer that day and while the details are a bit fuzzy in her mind, a week later there’d been a phone call telling her that Professor Organa’s brother had organized an apartment for her. One bedroom, definitely more expensive than what she’d been paying before but still manageable, 15 minutes to the university by bus, rent-controlled. And it had looked so nice, so much like something she would want to call _her own home_ , that she’d said yes immediately. Finn and Poe had been sheepish but relieved, and had treated her to a really fancy dinner as a thanks. Where they’d proceeded to make out over tiramisu. Oh well.

And, really, there hasn’t been a day where she’s regretted the decision to move in, if it weren’t for right now and the fact that Benjamin fucking Solo has her spare key. 

Because he’s Professor Organa’s son. And, more importantly, because he lives four blocks away. Rey can’t even begin to imagine what state of mind she must have been in to agree to that. Probably high. Or drunk on the prospect of finally living on her own in an affordable apartment in a nice neighborhood. Or both. 

(Dr.) Ben Solo had been the bane of Rey’s existence last semester. As part of the creation of a new interdisciplinary B.A. program called _Transcultural Studies_ , there’d been a class focusing on literary translation from the perspectives of different languages, cultures and academic fields. Jointly-taught. 

It had sounded great in theory and in practice because Rey had been able to really delve into the importance of cross-cultural and multilingual influences into what’s called “English” literature. She’d held a very interesting lecture on post-colonial writing with poly-lingual elements and, really, that should have been that. 

But of course, being notoriously curious, Rey’d forced herself to attend most of the other lectures as well. And there he’d been: Ben Solo, Ph.D. in German Studies, research focus on German Exile Literatures. His lecture on Klaus Mann _hadn’t been shit_ compared to hers, seriously. It’d been one of the worst lectures she’s ever sat in, boring, self-important, and downright douchey. He hadn’t even properly answered anyone’s questions at the end, just scoffed when he’d felt like they should have known the answer already. He had left without wishing the class a nice day or even just plain saying goodbye. Who does that?

 _A real shame to let the guy teach at all_ , she’d thought afterwards. _At least I don’t have to actually deal with him_. And then the essays had happened. 

The only requirement for attendance credit had been a 4 page essay based on or inspired by one of the lectures. Rey had been excited to read what the students thought, especially since a lot of them weren’t English B.A. students, so she’d imagined they might have a different perspective from what she’d been used to reading in her little English Studies bubble. And they had, honestly. But there had been only three for her to read. Eleven lectures to choose from for about 90 students did not equal three essays per lecturer. Not even when you calculate in that some students  
are bound to drop the class. 

At first Rey had thought _okay, that’s fine_ and moved one. The essays she’d gotten were really good, so what did it matter that she hadn’t had more and possibly less impressive ones to look through? She was good. She’d told herself that it wasn’t an attack on her as a person or even as a lecturer. That it had probably been the topic’s fault. Or the other lecturers’ topics, because maybe they’d just been more interesting to that particular class. Those things happen, right? No big deal. Really. And it hadn’t been a big deal until _fucking_ twitter. 

Because Dr. Solo was a man-child without even an ounce of self-control, he’d had to go ahead and tweet about how annoying it was to have to go through “fifteen stupid, unrefined and, frankly, almost laughable essays” instead of doing important research work for the world of German Studies. _Fifteen_. Five times as many as she’d had gotten! And wasn’t that just perfect. Of course he’d get fifteen essays critically engaging with the topic of World War II Exile Literature and he wouldn’t even appreciate it. Like the giant dick he was. 

Truth be told, Rey hasn’t really had any _interactions_ with Ben Solo yet, she mostly just silently curses his existence whenever she comes across his unfairly tall and stupidly attractive person. It’s not that unreasonable to hate someone based off of one bad lecture, right? Right. 

This semester, she’s seen him a couple of times: twice in the university library where he’s had the audacity to steal the last chair of the entire floor from under her nose (twice!!); once at the bus stop where he’d been scribbling something in his notebook while his hair had hung into his face in the most adorable way Rey had ever seen and once in the cafeteria inside the main Humanities building where she’d had to cut in line in front of him in order to be on time for a guest lecture that day she’d been dying to hear. She had felt a little guilty about it, afterwards, when the lecturer ended up being late herself. But only a little. 

So, overall, Rey wouldn’t say their relationship is built on mutual trust or respect or even just basic human empathy that she feels would be required between to parties if one is to possess the other’s spare key. Alas, Professor Organa had given hers her son anyway. 

Rey succumbs to her fate with a sigh and texts her. It’s definitely convenient to have her phone number on hand because it always takes her ages to respond to Rey’s e-mails, but it also feels way too personal. Like she could just call her in the middle of the night because of an emergency. Which she wouldn’t, ever, but the thing is she _could_ and that’s just weird. Intimate. 

Rey sits down on the stairwell. After two minutes of playing Candy Crush on her phone to pass the time, she gets a response.

**Messages with** Professor Organa  
  
**to Professor Organa:** Hello Professor! Sorry to bother you, but do you know if your son is home? And can you send me his address, please? I forgot my keyss  
  
**from Professor Organa:** Dear Miss Johnson,  
  
Mom is typing...  


Then another.

**Messages with** Professor Organa  
  
**to Professor Organa:** Hello Professor! Sorry to bother you, but do you know if your son is home? And can you send me his address, please? I forgot my keyss  
  
**from Professor Organa:** Dear Miss Johnson,  
  
**from Professor Organa:** Yes, Benjamin should be at his apartment. His last class ended an hour ago so he is probably currently eating lunch. Is everything alright?  
  


And another.

**Messages with** Professor Organa  
  
**to Professor Organa:** Hello Professor! Sorry to bother you, but do you know if your son is home? And can you send me his address, please? I forgot my keyss  
  
**from Professor Organa:** Dear Miss Johnson,  
  
**from Professor Organa:** Yes, Benjamin should be at his apartment. His last class ended an hour ago so he is probably currently eating lunch. Is everything alright?  
  
**from Professor Organa:** https://maps.app.goo.gl/GuUP87n4jLuMFFq4A   
  


Rey sighs in relief and sends a text back. Or two.

**Messages with** Professor Organa  
  
**to Professor Organa:** Hello Professor! Sorry to bother you, but do you know if your son is home? And can you send me his address, please? I forgot my keyss  
  
**from Professor Organa:** Dear Miss Johnson,  
  
**from Professor Organa:** Yes, Benjamin should be at his apartment. His last class ended an hour ago so he is probably currently eating lunch. Is everything alright?  
  
**from Professor Organa:** https://maps.app.goo.gl/GuUP87n4jLuMFFq4A   
  
**to Professor Organa:** I'm finr thank you !!  
  
**to Professor Organa:** *fine  
  


Well then. Off to Ben Solo’s apartment it is. 

The things is, when she gets there, Rey is a little stunned. It’s only four blocks away from her own apartment, so how is it possible for the neighborhood to change from “yeahh, it’s pretty nice to live here, there’s probably a park somewhere” to “oh, I only buy groceries from the _huge_ organic supermarket across the street”? It’s bizarre. 

This is Hipster heaven. It’s gentrification in, like, a giant nutshell. Rey can spot at least three cafés and two restaurants with big, pseudo hand-painted _ALL VEGAN_ signs. She almost misses Ben Solo’s building because she’s too distracted by the arthouse cinema next to it (that looks really intriguing if she’s being honest) and by the thrift store next to that because she thinks it might be one that Rose has told her about. Damn. This is not at all how she had expected, but Rey is not complaining. She just wishes she’d known about the cool people neighborhood before. 

Ben Solo’s building fits in perfectly. The front is all red brick like an Instagram influencer’s wet dream. Is Ben Solo on Instagram? That would be… interesting. It’s not Rey’s fault that he looks really, _really_ good while being such a douche. Or that his particular way of looking good is exactly her type. It’s just a stupid, unfair coincidence. One she can ignore for the sake of getting inside her apartment again. 

So Rey rings the door bell and waits. She has a short panic of _what if he isn’t actually home, maybe he’s eating out what are you going to do wh_ \- before she can hear static noises. 

“Yes?” 

“Dr. Solo? Hi, uh, this is Rey Johnson? Your mother gave you my spare key and I would, uh, like to- use it now.” Great, she thinks. Suuuper smooth. 

“Sure. Third floor, left side” 

_Bzzzzzzz_

The inside of the building is just as nice as the outside. They have an elevator and it’s not one that smells like urine and old people, it’s one that’s nice and clean and smells like laundry. Rey’s always loved the smell of laundry in stairwells (and elevators, apparently). It’s just one of those things. Maybe she associates it with one of her nicer foster families, they lived in an apartment on the seventh floor and walking up and down the stairs every day had been kind of therapeutic. 

Waiting for the elevator to get to the third floor, however, is very much anxiety-inducing. Heart racing, sweaty palms, nervous tapping of her foot, chewing on her lip until it’s almost bleeding – the whole spiel. When it finally _ding_ s, she rushes to get out. She’s not exactly claustrophobic, just a bit uncomfortable in elevators. 

To the left. The walls of the third floor hallway are painted green, a nice forest kind of color. Green is the color of hope, right? Whatever that means now. 

Rey takes a second to compose herself. Pulls up her jeans a little bit, tightens her ponytail, adjusts the strap of her bag. Then she knocks.

It’s shocking how _comfortable_ Ben Solo seems. He’s wearing a white cable-knit sweater that looks soft and warm and makes her think of Chris Evans in _Knives Out_ , and isn’t that just the cherry on top of the Sundae that has been this day so far. She can’t even count how man fantasies she’s had about the guy. Not the racist character in the movie, just Chris Evans. Looking soft. Preferably with a puppy in his lap that immediately vaporizes the second they start making out. It’s definitely one of her more wholesome fantasies.

Ben Solo is also staring at her. Gawking, even. 

“Wait, _you’re_ Rey Johnson?” he says after the two of them just stand there, awkwardly looking at each other’s faces. 

“Yeah?” She forces out an uncomfortable laugh. “Why?” 

He shrugs. “I heard your lecture on multilingual elements in post-colonial anglophone literature. In that translation series.” He nods to himself. “Was really good. Insightful.” 

Now that’s a surprise Rey doesn’t know how to feel about. Never in a million years would she have have thought he’d be the type to be interested in what his colleagues have to say. Definitely not interested in her.

“I just didn’t know you were the Rey Johnson whose spare key I have,” he goes on. 

The way he continues to stare at her face, body angled downwards a little, is doing things to her stomach that it shouldn’t. She can feel her face heating up. “How many Rey Johnson’s do you know?” she asks, a stupid little smirk probably threatening to take over her mouth. 

“Oh,” he laughs and pushes a hand through his hair. It looks so _nice_ , framing his face, swaying with every little motion. She bets it smells good, too. He probably uses a shampoo without sulfates or parabens, buys it at that organic supermarket she saw. For some reason, unknown to anyone besides her body, she can’t help but find that hot. She’s never thought of good hair care as sexy before. 

He’s leaning against the door frame now. “No, actually,” he says, “I didn’t know your name before. I was late to your lecture, so I missed your first slide and then I had an appointment afterwards, so I couldn’t stick around to talk to you. Just remembered your face.” She notices how he talks with his hands, it’s distracting. And cute. Now he’s looking almost apologetic. 

Rey nods, slowly. Like any of this makes sense. 

“Right. Thanks, but you could have just looked at the syllabus.” She frowns. “Or- I don’t know. Asked someone.”

He hums. “Guess I could’ve. But I didn’t. And now you’re here.” She feels like he’s sizing her up even though his eyes don’t leave her face. If that’s the case, Rey doesn’t even mind. 

“Yes,” she agrees, with determination and only a slight tremble in her voice. “Now I’m here. To get my spare key.” She looks up at him expectantly and he takes a step back. 

“Come in, then.” He smiles before turning around. There’s a second where she just stand there, thinking. Then she follows him inside. 

Her first thought is that his apartment makes sense. That’s the only way she can put it, it just fits. She would have expected more black-and-white, but most of his furniture is almost colorful, all neutrals, browns and muted oranges, even a little red here and there. There are framed sepia photos on the walls, plants on top of his bookshelf, postcards hanging on a string. It all feels homey. Cozy. There’s just enough of a vintage vibe to match his refined hot professor aesthetic. Definitely hipster-y, though. 

“Nice apartment,” she manages after reaching up to tighten her ponytail again. “I like the couch.” It’s velvet, dark green, looks more comfortable than anything Rey has in her entire apartment. 

He nods, absent-mindedly, and waves a hand around. “Sit down if you want. Make yourself at home while I go look for your key.” With that he’s gone, off into a room further back. 

Rey stands around for a bit, indecisive, before walking over to the couch and taking a seat. It’s even more comfortable than it looks. She lets her head thud against the backrest, looks up at the ceiling. Then she closes her eyes. He must have been listening to music before, there’s [a soft melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8xPHS-n5Gw) coming from somewhere to her right. It sounds old, 70s if she had to guess, and it sets her in a nice mood. But of course Ben Solo would be into pretentious music. She can’t help but smile at the thought. 

Then he clears his throat, suddenly in front of her, and she flinches. It’s a little worrying that he can be this quiet, she’s never liked people sneaking up on her. He’s got a small pouch in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He sets both down on the table to her right. Now that she’s looking, she sees the speaker on there, too. 

“I thought you might like something to drink?” He pulls up a chair from somewhere and sits down opposite to her. 

She takes the glass from the table and examines it, almost in a daze. Everything feels surreal. He's being very nice and she’s not too sure how to deal with this. The music is still quiet, but it’s drowning out all her thoughts. She takes a sip. “Thank you,” she smiles. He smiles back. Just like that. 

“So, you lost your keys, huh?” She frowns. He doesn’t know what to say, she realizes. He can feel it too, the changing atmosphere, the energy between them. Neither of them know what to do, waiting for the other to make a move first, a real one. That’s okay, Rey decides. She can wait and see. 

She shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe they’re still inside my apartment. Schroedinger’s keys as long as I don’t open the door.” 

He lets out a laugh at that, a short one, almost a scoff but with much more affection. “You’re funny,” he says. It’s simple, earnest, so open and honest that Rey can only stare at him. 

“Who is that?” she asks, voice a little tight all of a sudden, and motions to the speaker. 

“ _Big Star_. They’re from the 70s.” He seems to think about something for a second. “Do you like it? I can put something else on?” 

She doesn’t remind him that she’s only here to pick up the key. That she hadn’t planned on even stepping foot inside his apartment, let alone sit down on his couch. That she’s in uncharted territory here. Instead she takes a gulp of her water and shakes her head while she swallows. 

“It’s nice,” she says. “Not like- not usually my thing, but… nice.” As she’s saying that, the voice to her right sings [_All I see is you, all I see is you_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnBaSPGU5VE) and, truly, she couldn’t agree more. She can feel herself blush and looks down at her hands, still clutching the glass. It’s hard not to be distracted by his face. She thinks she could look at it for hours without getting bored. “How d’you know them?” she asks, to have something to do. He sighs and she regrets her question. 

“My dad wouldn’t play anything else when I was a kid. Mom ended up hating them, especially after the divorce, and I guess I listened to them a lot in my rebellious teenager times to piss her off.” He rubs at his chin. “They’re just really good, though.”

And oh. Rey hadn’t, well, she hadn’t really thought about Ben Solo having a _father_. He’s always been Professor Organa’s son in her mind. It hadn’t occurred to her that another party must have been involved in that. One he doesn’t like to talk about. That’s fine by her, trading family stories has never been her favorite thing to do, anyway.

She nods with a forced little smile. Then, to change the topic again, she stage-whispers, “And pretentious.” He grins, free and open. He seems so comfortable with her, it would be scary if she didn’t feel it too. 

“You’re not wrong.” He’s got a look in his eyes that’s intimate and intimidating at the same time. She raises her chin, defiantly. Ben Solo is not going to stare her down. 

After a beat he says, “What do you listen to, then? That’s not pretentious?” In another life, Rey would want to impress him now, she thinks. Astonish him with her excellent taste in music. As it is, she just wants to see what happens. Where all of this is going. 

“One Direction.” 

She almost laughs out loud at the silence that follows. 

He’s clearly trying to figure out if she’s joking or not. He has no idea how to act. 

“That’s certainly… interesting,” he decides to go with. “Probably the opposite of pretentious.” He does the hair push thing with his hand again and leans forward in his chair. “Who’s your favorite member?” He’s frowning, just a little, and it does nothing to spoil his features. If anything, he looks more handsome. More real. 

“Niall,” she says without thinking about it. This is a challenge and she knows she’s winning.

He leans back again with a quiet laugh. “I have no idea who that is,” he admits. She laughs, too.

“I know maybe about five of their songs. But I do like them. They’re good car music.” He raises one of his eyebrows at that, amused. “I like Elton John,” she says, more serious now. “But more the 80s kind. ABBA. Dolly Parton. Other than that- just modern Pop. Indie, Hip Hop influences. All kinds.” 

Just then [another song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrXM7fKKlR0) comes on and Ben closes his eyes for a second. “This is my favorite one,” he says, softly, and opens them again. He looks right into hers, doesn’t need to search for them. His eyes are pulling her in, too, like magnets. It’s unfair, so much of Ben Solo is fucking unfair, Rey decides. 

She’s quiet, takes another sip of water, and _listens_. From all the songs she’s heard so far, this one is the least like her kind of music, but there’s this raw quality to it that makes her eyes water a little. She feels she can understand the emotion perfectly even though the lyrics don’t make much sense to her. 

_Do you wanna dance?  
Do you?  
Do you do you do you wanna dance?_

She has to admit, she kinda does. Get up and dance, sway and spin to the music like they do in movies about the 70s. But this is real life, and she’s sitting and so is Ben. He’s completely still, only blinking from time to time. His eyes look so lovely, his features soft, so handsome. 

He’s downright pretty, she decides. Prettier than anyone has the right to be. 

Then the song is over and so is the moment. He gets up, scratches at his temple, and grabs the pouch from the table. She stands as well and holds out her hand. He hesitates, just for a moment, before handing it over. 

The thing is, she really should have seen this coming. You could change the speed of this exact scene to slow-motion and the audience, they would say “oh of course we saw what was going to happen, it was really quite obvious” and smile politely, but Rey would have no idea. 

Because it only takes that one tiny moment, that itsy-bitsy point of contact, the brief feeling of his fingers on hers, to set off sparks in her mind. The second their hands touch she’s gone. She drops the pouch and it falls with a little _clang_. Right, there’s a key inside. A key she came here to pick up. A key she needs in order to get inside her own apartment, far away from Ben Solo and any temptations and- 

_Fuck that_ , she decides, and lunges forward to kiss him. 

In retrospect, that’s not the smartest idea she’s ever had. Because Ben Solo doesn’t move, he just stands there, hands pressed to his thighs, and lets her do her thing until she lets go again. Fuck. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she rushes to say. “That was _not okay_ , I should have asked or waited a second or I don’t know, god. I’m so sorr-” 

And then his mouth is on hers. His big hands are there, holding her face, tangling themselves in her ponytail, and she can do nothing but sigh into him. It’s another thing she has to add to her list of things that are unfair about Ben Solo: He’s a phenomenal kisser. It’s soft and light, not as pushy as she had been seconds before, but it’s still assertive somehow. Ben Solo kisses with a purpose and it’s one that Rey is totally on board with. 

All too soon it’s over again. She’s breathless and his eyes are heavy, glazed over. His lips are red and shiny with their spit. And that should be gross, but it so isn’t. 

“You caught me a little off-guard there,” he croaks out and it takes Rey a second to realize he’s said something. She’s dizzy, but in a good way. In the best way. She nods, her head feeling like it’s moving underwater. 

“Sorry,” she says and stares at him while he raises a hand to her ponytail and pulls out the hair tie.  
Her hair falls down and his eyes go big. 

“Jesus, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers. She laughs a little. 

“I wasn’t beautiful with my hair up?” she manages, teasingly, though her lips don’t want to form the words. They want to be back on his, or sucking at his neck, or maybe even further down. They’re not all that picky. 

He shakes his head with a smile. “You’re always beautiful.” 

Her heart leaps at that. It’s so earnest, everything he does feels so vulnerable. It leaves her speechless. So she does the next best thing which is to kiss him again. The thing is, though, they’re still standing in the middle of the living room, which makes the whole thing slightly awkward. 

“Can we-,” he gasps between kisses, “can we, _unhghh_ , move this somewhere else maybe?” Rey nods, frantically, while still trying to suck at his tongue. 

He pushes her off. “Couch or bedroom?” he whispers. 

She gulps. Bedroom sounds _intense_. Couch sounds a little childish. She stares at him for a beat, trying to rack her brain for an answer. Oh no. Maybe this is moving a little fast, she thinks. She has no idea what to say, but can see him deflate, his shoulders already drooping. 

“We don’t have to,” he offers after an uncomfortable amount of silence. “You obviously didn’t come here for this, so it’s fine if you just want to take your key and go home.” 

Rey shakes her head now, looks at the ground. “I don’t want to go home. I want-” She rubs her palm over her face to calm herself. “I want whatever this is. Just, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I think.” 

He nods and searches her face. She doesn’t know what he’s looking for. “Do you wanna just sit down?” His voice is soft and gentle, almost too much so. But Rey lets him pull her to the couch and push her into the cushion. It’s good to feel the velvet against her fingertips, it makes sense to her mind. It’s nice to have him sit next to her like this. 

She swallows and pushes out, “I don’t think I want to have sex with you right now.” It takes a lot of energy, just saying that. She lets her head rest on one of her hands, propped up on her leg. 

“No,” he says quickly, and his tone sounds almost hurt. “We definitely don’t have to have sex today. Or ever.” He tries to to look at her eyes, but she keeps shifting them away. It’s too much, it’s too embarrassing. He’s too nice about all of this. 

“Rey.” He says her name like he’s testing the waters, almost like he’s trying not to startle a frightened animal. And that’s how she feels right now, honestly. She takes a deep breath and looks up at his face. “We’re only doing what we both feel comfortable with, okay?” He waits for her to nod before he keeps talking, “Just tell me what you want to do and then we can do that. Or not. It’s all up to you.” 

She nods again, slowly. _It’s all up to her_. That’s good. “I think I want to kiss you some more. And maybe do other stuff. But no sex. It’s-,” she chews on her bottom lip, before she decides on, “It’s been a while and I’m not ready. Yet.” 

He stretches his arm and holds out his hand to her. “We can just kiss,” he agrees when she laces their fingers together. He strokes his thumb over hers and smiles. “And do _other stuff_. If you tell me what that means.” 

There’s a glint in his eyes, a shimmer of subdued mischief and Rey can’t help but smile back. She’s okay, this is okay. They’re taking it slow. She leans over to kiss him, quick and light. 

“I want to touch you,” she says, more determined than before. He grins. 

“We can work with that,” he whispers and grabs her face to kiss her again, deep and serious. She thinks she could kiss him for hours and not get tired of the sensation. But after a couple of seconds he lets go of her. “If anything’s bothering you, just say the word, yeah?” 

She nods. Then she pulls him back, desperate to keep making out. He laughs at that and leans over more and more, coming closer and closer. He’s already invading her personal space so much that she decides, _Whatever_ , fists a hand in his sweater and drags him into her lap. It’s funny, he’s so huge, takes up so much space just by default, and yet he fits on top of her perfectly. He moves his knees so they properly bracket her legs and, for a second, Rey forgets to breathe. He’s towering over her, so tall, so broad, and he only has eyes for her. It’s hard not to let it get to her head. 

“Can you take this off?” she asks, voice so hoarse she has to clear her throat twice. She grabs at his sweater and he nods, pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, then flings it across the room. And it’s just- Of course his chest looks like this. What else did she expect, really? 

She brushes her fingertips, lightly, over his pecs, just to see him shiver, then she pinches his nipples when he doesn’t expect it. Ben honest to god _whines_. He pants, “Rey” and grinds down into her lap. And as good as he looks above her, it’s not exactly the most comfortable position to be squished and into the cushion, but it’s so fucking hot like this. She can’t remember the last time she’s just made out with someone on a couch. It’s something she should do more often. Hopefully on this couch, with him. Forever.

Warm hands sneak their way underneath her shirt and she laughs into his mouth, always ticklish. It takes him a few seconds to open her bra but when he does, her hands are right there to help him slide it off together with her shirt. Somehow, she doesn’t feel exposed sitting there and letting him stare at her breasts. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t look hungry or disappointed like most people before him. He just looks _happy_. When he takes them into his hands, he’s even more gentle than before, slow and deliberate in every little movement. Like he’s worshipping them, careful and keen on leaving everything intact. That’s fine, she decides. She can tell him to ruin her later. 

Feeling bold, she stretches to suck at his neck. He follows her lead and starts to leave kisses up and down her throat, letting her feel his teeth from time to time. 

She works at getting his jeans to open when he stops her. “Wait,” he murmurs into her ear and nibbles on her lobe for a second. “Can I do something for you first?” Rey nods, mouth pressed shut so she doesn’t moan out loud. She can feel him grin against her skin, lick his lips, and then-

He sinks down to the floor. 

His hands sit heavy on top of her thighs and he’s still grinning, looking up at her with wonder in his eyes. He’s still asking permission, she realizes and hurries to open her pants. His hands slide up to pull them down while she wiggles around and she has to laugh. It feels ridiculous. She can’t get enough of it. 

Her briefs are just plain grey and, really, it’s a good thing because he nearly rips them apart while trying to get them off her. Jesus, he’s so strong. She tries not to imagine what he could do to her, but she can’t suppress a shiver. Another though for another day. He’s busy sliding his hands up and down her legs and she remembers too late that she hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. She almost wants to apologize, but decides against it. If he’s bothered, he’ll say something. 

She’s not fully prepared for the feeling of his mouth on her. It’s sudden, no preamble, no time to adjust. It’s too much but in the right type of way. Like everything he’s been doing so far, it’s perfect. He really knows how to do this, she thinks as she has to bite into her hand to keep herself from groaning.

She hasn’t felt this crazy about anyone in a long time. She’s had good sex, sure, but this is a different kind of sensation. A level she wasn’t sure she’d ever unlock. She’s a little worried she’ll suffocate him with all of her thigh-clenching and hair-pulling just to push his head _deeper_ a second later. But he’s a big boy and she trusts him to stop if he’s getting uncomfortable down there. He seems to enjoy himself, though, going by the noises he’s making. And, well, if that’s not another major turn-on, then Rey doesn’t know what is. 

It’s over all too soon. Rey comes with a short little cry. Spent and feeling boneless, she sinks deeper into the couch with a sigh and lies there for a bit, eyes closed, mind floating. Then she remembers there’s someone else in the room, someone who might have a little something she should probably help him with. 

But when she opens her eyes, he’s already done. Has somehow managed to take off his pants and finish himself off without her even noticing. Rey feels a little guilty. “Sorry,” she croaks, but he shakes his head right away. 

“No,” he murmurs and pulls her down to kiss her. It’s the first time Rey’s tasted herself on someone else’s tongue and she _loves_ it. He seems to as well, doesn’t let her go for a while. When he does, it’s with a smile and a wink. “You’re good. Perfect even,” he says and it takes her orgasm-affected brain a second to realize it’s in response to her apology. 

She laughs. “And you’re cheesy.” 

He shrugs. “Guess so.” She kisses him again. “I don’t think you mind,” he whispers against her mouth. 

“No,” she says. “I can’t say I do.” 

Ben gets up and yawns. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for my post-lunch nap now.” He holds out his hand. “Wanna join me?” 

Much later, when Rey is climbing up the stairs to her own apartment, spare key safely tucked inside her purse, she pulls out her phone.

**Messages with** Professor Organa  
  
**from Professor Organa:** Yes, Benjamin should be at his apartment. His last class ended an hour ago so he is probably currently eating lunch. Is everything alright?  
  
**from Professor Organa:** https://maps.app.goo.gl/GuUP87n4jLuMFFq4A   
  
**to Professor Organa:** I'm finr thank you !!  
  
**to Professor Organa:** *fine  
  
**from Professor Organa:** Did you get your keys? I hope Benjamin didn't give you too much trouble. Text me when you're home, please.

Rey can’t help but grin. She sends back a single thumbs-up emoji. 

**Author's Note:**

> !! 
> 
> I hoped you liked it. 
> 
> Don't ask me where this is set geographically. Probably an alternate universe where we speak English in Germany,, I have no idea. 
> 
> Also, I decided against making Rey explicitly British, but in my mind she definitely is. 
> 
> ~~also also I’ve only actually seen two Star Wars movies in my life and they were from the original trilogy and the prequels, respectively so yeah …I've just kind of fallen in love with this ship oops~~
> 
> pls leave kudos and comments, I will forever be in your debt
> 
> ps: there is a sequel now! it's just more feels and even less smut, soo if that's your thing then go on over to that :3


End file.
